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Dunk Contest

by Defcee and BoatHouse

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about

BoatHouse is one of the most versatile producers I’ve worked with. He can craft a variety of sonic palettes that are all top-notch and inspire great music. However, one of my favorite production styles he flexes is the one that strips everything from the beat except for space and a voice in the back of the artist’s head that tells us to just rap. “Dunk Contest” did that for me—and in regard to the title of the song, every cypher is, essentially, a dunk contest. I just so happened to hit a 360-reverse windmill from the baseline on this one.

lyrics

Buckle my baby in the swing and burp a rapper with my free hand
God must have called em to pick a switch and I’m the tree branch.
Movin stupid placin bids on eBay for a G pass.
Hours in the gym, their album cover on the speedbag,
and I’m not even tryin. This is what I wrote in my kitchen,
brush in a bottle nipple and rinsin soap from the dishes.
Can’t you see how big the total I get is for these verses no?
They rappin holdin hats on the train, tryin to work the crowd.
If it isn’t gonna change my life…I can turn it down.
Still harvest fields of cornballs into kernel mounds
Any chicken they gettin is colonel-style Kentucky shit
while they’re talking tougher than cuttin bricks with an oven mitt.
Finally got Back to the Future generator buzz.
Had my first daughter, and let the industry raise my sons.
Public enemies see truth in this music. It weighs a ton
Bodybag over the mic, caution tape on the drums.

HOOK (x2):
Jordan from the free throw, Kobe on the baseline,
Spud Webb vertical, Vince with the hangtime.
Brent Barry face on, warmups for the stage fright.
Coming for the crown and the ring, make em pay twice.

Swim in algorithms rippin digits from the circuitry
The nerve of me, glitches evaded the fixes perfectly.
eleventh century surgery clean, dirty fatigues,
thirsting for dreams that were turning Biggie’s furniture green.
It was all a scam. Blades shredding chain mail
Til the face mask’s splinterin and not a single plate of armor stands.
Underground redefinition–videos in dollar vans.
Listen to their music, hit the “I am not the father” dance.
A polygraph? They couldn’t pass crash dummy belt checks
Welcome you to Good Burger, then rap baout their KEL-TEC
Heading back to Cali and have not taken an L yet.
Late and heavyhanded at the party, dippin with twelve guests
Justice willfully blind no matter how thin the veil gets,
watching pensively as its pension’s buzzed through the jail fence.
You the muscle but would lose a limb during a delt stretch.
I will not be hopping on any records with Adele next
unless I get an Adele second half, I got married
to the game, broke the bread, and then the glass.
Stigmata round my writing hand–I bled out in the craft

credits

released March 22, 2022
produced by BoatHouse
artwork by Alexander Richter

For All Debts Public and Private coming 4/19 via Closed Sessions
Vinyl pre-order here: www.closedsessions.com/store/foralldebts

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Defcee Illinois

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